


Chasing a Dead Conman

by AllyDog57



Series: He's Not Dead [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Post-Series, Resolution, minor language, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22267384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllyDog57/pseuds/AllyDog57
Summary: Peter sat at his desk at the office, fiddling with the key to the storage container.He couldn’t completely believe what he discovered today.Neal was alive.In the back of his mind, he tinkered with the fact that Neal faked his death. But the facts laid out in front of him contradicted it.The container added another side to the event and blew it all away.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke
Series: He's Not Dead [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602037
Comments: 20
Kudos: 31





	1. Revealing Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Goodbye Neal acts as a prologue to this work.  
> Chapters will be edited as I go along. Just because it is posted does not necessarily mean it is finished.  
> This is my first work that is not completely in the character's heads. Bear with me if it seems choppy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bureau can't know, but a few people can.

Peter sat at his desk at the office, fiddling with the key to the storage container.

He couldn’t completely believe what he discovered today.

_ Neal was alive. _

In the back of his mind, he tinkered with the fact that Neal faked his death. But the facts laid out in front of him contradicted it.

The container added another side to the event and blew it all away.

Jones hadn’t asked anything when Peter got in the car. He didn’t see the storage container. He didn’t see what was inside. The treasure, the bullet. The painstakingly clear evidence that Neal was alive.

It was almost like he wanted Peter to find it. Almost like he was saying  _ Find me. _

_ You are my best friend. _

Those words cycled through his head. It was almost like Neal said those words to get Peter on his case. To pull at his heartstrings.

The Bureau can’t find out that Neal is alive. If they do, they have to find him and bring him back. And imprison him. With no chance of getting out.

Peter looked out the office window, onto the floor below. Diana’s desk was empty, she left for DC a week ago. He missed her, missed her fiery personality, the sass that went wherever she went.

Jones sat at his desk, working on the current case. He was flipping through files, entering data into the computer, connecting lines that many wouldn’t connect.

Peter debated whether or not telling Jones that Neal was alive. The agent loved Neal like a brother, the entire New York White Collar Division did. Peter remembered what Jones said at Neal’s commutation four years ago, “You need space, he keeps to himself. You need to talk, he listens. You need a beer, he'll pour. Although he'll let you know he's slumming it.”

Jones admired the man, so did Peter. Neal brought out the best in them.

Peter huffed and hung his head. He got up and walked to the balcony. “Jones,” he called, doing the two-finger point-and-wave. Neal assumed that the point-and-wave was a skill taught at Quantico, all the higher-ups did it. And once Peter became ASEC, he started doing it. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He missed the con man. 

“Sir?” Jones asks when he meets Peter at his door. Peter motions for him to come inside and sit, following the man and shut the door.

Jones sits down and waits for Peter. Peter rounds the desk and takes a deep breath. He leans forward on his desk and stares at Jones. Jones just merely stares back, unquestioning.

“Jones, I found something. Something amazing and surprising. But it is something the Bureau can’t know. They absolutely, definitely,  _ cannot _ find this out. If they do… we and someone else we know are in deep trouble.”

“You know I can keep a secret, sir.”

“I know you can, Jones. That’s why I am going to tell you this.” Peter has no doubt that Jones can keep this a secret. They did things behind the back of the FBI for years with Neal, mainly to keep him from going to jail for some stupid thing he did. 

Peter takes a deep breath. “Neal is not dead. He’s alive. And in Paris. With Mozzie.”

Jones stills and blinks at Peter. “Damn. He faked his death?”

Peter nods. “The shipping container reveals it all. The drug he took, the people he hired, the gun… Even the stolen paintings from the Nazi sub.” Peter holds out the key. “It was found on his person. The med-tech gave it to me. It was almost like…”

“...he wanted you to find it,” Jones finishes. Peter nods again. Jones sits up straighter in his seat. “Why? Why would he fake his death? Why this way? With Keller?”

“To the world, Keller committed murder. Which legally allowed me to shoot him because he was dangerous. And the government would never let Neal go, he was- is- too valuable of an asset. They would find a way to hold on to him. He would never be free.”

Peter thought back to the hospital hallway, holding Neal’s tracking anklet. “You’re free,” he muttered to the anklet. Then, he thought Neal was free because he was dead. Now…

“He decided to be free in his own way,” Jones adds in, leaning forward to match Peter’s pose.

“Yeah,” Peter replies.

“So what are you going to do?” Jones asks. “I don’t think you told me all this just because you found it out. You want to do something.”

Peter laughs. His friend knows him too well. “I want to find him.”

“You know he can’t come back to the States. And the government can’t know. He’s a fugitive,” Jones states very matter-of-factly.

Peter sighs. “I have no desire to bring him back. I just want to find him and-”  _ Slap him? Hug him? Return the words he told me a year ago? Yell at him for leaving us that way? _

By the look on Peter’s face, Jones knew what he was going to say. “You want to find him and give him the shit he put you through?”

Peter blinks. “Uh, basically.”

Jones grins. “I want to give him shit for all the things he put us through too.”

Peter hangs his head to hide his smile. Jones was certainly a character. He liked the man for that.

“Does Elizabeth know?” Jones asks.

“No,” Peter answers. “You’re the only other one that knows. I’m... scared of how she’ll react. I mean, what do you say? ‘Our dead friend isn’t so dead anymore, honey, and I want to find him’?”

“You could put it that way,” Jones suggests. “Or you can do it the way you told me. Lean into it until BAM! Neal’s alive.”

A chuckle from Peter. “Jones,” he huffs. “Why…? How…?”

“Don’t question it, Peter. I’ve known you for so long that I know what you need.” He gets up and shakes his hand. “Go home. Talk to Elizabeth. She might want to know about this before you go skipping around the world looking for someone who is supposed to be dead.” With that he left, leaving Peter with his own thoughts.

He looks at his clock. 5:30. The day ends at six, but this is important. He gathers up his coat and briefcase. “I’m taking off early. I have… pressing matters to attend to,” he announces to the group below. They all waved goodbye as he walked through the office, and Jones winked and gave him a thumbs up. He walked out the door and stepped into the elevator.

* * *

Peter walks in the door, shrugging off his coat and hanging his umbrella. He was glad he brought it today, for the last-minute rain the weatherman predicted came, for once.

“El?” he calls into the seemingly empty house, looking around the corner into the kitchen. No response. He walks into the living room and calls again, “El?”

“Up here!” he hears from upstairs. He turns around and trudges up, huffing and puffing.  _ I need to get back into shape, _ he thinks. _ Days spent at a desk have taken its toll. _

He gets up and hears a noise coming from Neal’s room. He peeps his head in and sees his wife putting their son down for a nap, the baby already asleep. He was barely four months old, and already showing some personality traits of his namesake. Like stealing. Neal loves to steal his baby food and shove his face into it. It makes Peter laugh every time, even though it makes El grumble because she is the one to pick it up.

Elizabeth tucks the blankets around the baby and quietly rushes Peter out of the room. He steps out and she gathers a bottle and cloth to wash and follows him out. She closes the door softly and turns to Peter. “Hey honey,” she greets, kissing him. “You’re home early. How was work? Did you miss me so much you had to get off half an hour early?” She turns and walks down the stairs to the kitchen, Peter following.

Peter tries to look for an adequate word to describe his day and comes up short. “It was… interesting,” he went with. El spins around to face him, eyes glimmering with happiness. He grins at his wife, kissing her again. “And of course I missed you.”

Elizabeth beams back. “Interesting? Never heard you say that before,” she says, rinsing out the bottle in the sink. She hands Peter the cloth, motioning for him to put it in the laundry basket they keep right outside the kitchen.

“That word is not good enough to describe my day,” he admits. He sighs. El pauses washing Neal’s bottle and looks at Peter.

“Why?” she asks.

“El.” Peter walks over to the sink and grabs her by the shoulders. “What I am about to tell you cannot be told to anyone. Jones knows, and that is it. If the FBI finds out what we know, we and someone we care deeply about will be in massive trouble that cannot be reversed.” El nods and Peter lets go of her shoulder. He took a deep breath. “Neal is alive. He faked his death.”

Elizabeth’s face went pale and her knees buckled. She caught herself on the counter before she hurt herself and Peter rushed to her side, holding a hand out to steady her. “How?” she asks.

Peter told her everything. The drugs he took, the people he hired. “Mozzie joined him,” he mentioned as he held out the playing card.

Elizabeth sat down at the dining table, unable to stand with the weight of the information on her shoulders. “Why?”

“To make sure Keller was gone for good, either dead or locked behind bars forever. And to protect us. And to get the freedom he deserves,” he answers.

“But why not keep us in the loop? Why lie to us, the only ones who believed in him?”

“Too many ways something could go wrong. One person messes up, those who are in face charges of treason. What he did was not ideal, but the way he did it is.” Peter ran his hand down his face. “It’s also more believable if our reactions are genuine.”

Elizabeth put her hands up to her face, rubbing her eyes in frustration. Peter pulls a chair out to sit across from her, pulling her hands from her face and holding them. He saw that her eyes were red and on the verge of tears. “I miss him. I miss him so much, Peter,” she chokes out. “He was like a brother. To both of us. I saw how much fun you had together. Yeah, he was such a pain in the ass, but he was so worth it. I saw the spark in your eyes whenever he came around. You were his best friend. And he was yours.” She wiped an eye. “When you told me that he… that he had… died, I saw how much it hurt you. How much you missed him.

“Yeah, he deserves his freedom. He worked so damn hard and those in charge were idiots to not let him go, especially how hard he worked. He would have worked full time for the FBI, I know it. He would have. He loved it there so much. But to fake his death, give us these cryptic goodbyes we did not even realize were goodbyes, was selfish. Maybe he felt so bad that he laid out a trail for us to follow later. Like that key. But going through it all, the funeral, the service…”

“It was too much, I know,” Peter finishes. He takes a deep breath. “That’s why I’m going to find him.”

El meets his eyes for the first time. They were full of hope and longing. She wanted to see him again. “The FBI will?”

Peter shakes his head. “No, they can’t even know. If they know he was still alive… he’s a fugitive of the law. He escaped before his sentence was over. If they knew he was alive, they would find him and bring him back to prison. And there is no deal that can take him out.”

“So you are going out and finding him- alone," Elizabeth says, giving him a steady stare. 

"I'll have Jones help me. He'll monitor things back here, make sure my absence is justified,” Peter assures, giving his wife’s hands a gentle squeeze.

Elizabeth eyeballs him. Her eyes were still filled with tears, although none had fallen yet. “Please, Peter,” she begs. “Bring him home. Or at least know that he is safe and well.” Tears start falling down her face. “And take care of yourself. Please.” She bows her head and stops holding back her tears.

“Do you need me to stay around? For Neal?” Peter asks. He doesn’t want to leave his wife with their infant son, alone to deal with the boy for who knows how long alone.

“I’ll be fine, Peter,” she reassures. “I’ll call my parents down. They can babysit Neal while I am working.” She gets up from her chair, not letting go of his hands, and sits on his lap. She puts her nose to his and gazes deeply into his eyes. They share a breath for a moment. “Neal means a lot to you- to me too. What he did was fair, yes, but how he did it was mean. I want him back, Peter. He was like a son to me too.”

Peter smiles. He lets go of El’s hands and wraps his around her waist, pulling her closer. He kisses her deeply. “Then I’m gonna go find our kid.”

Peter can feel El’s smile against his lips and he smiles back.

Pretty soon, Special Agent Peter Burke will be 4-and-O.


	2. Making Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fooling the Bureau is harder than it looks.

Peter strode into his office the next day, new confidence rising in him. He was ready to go find Neal.

Neal left them without saying a proper goodbye. He gave them cryptic goodbyes, elegant and unsuspicious at the time. When he “died,” it seemed like a mere coincidence. But looking into it...

Peter sits at his desk, staring at the key he was spinning in between his fingers. He told nobody else other than El and Jones about the storage container. In his official report, he said that it was empty except for a few personal effects- he made it seem like Mozzie lived there and not all the stolen Nazi treasure.

Neal wanted Peter to find him, otherwise, the key would not have been on his person. He wonders how Neal would react when Peter showed up in Paris, ready to give him an earful.

Peter hears a noise and looks up to see Jones walk in and close the door behind him. He sits on the chair on the opposite side of Peter’s desk and leans forward. Peter sets down the key on the desk and folds his hands, waiting for Jones to speak.

“How are you going to do this?” he asks.

Peter had planned it all out last night. He couldn’t get someone to issue an order for him to go somewhere, someone will notice that he hasn’t shown up. They also didn’t have any cases overseas, so he couldn’t say he expressed interest and disappear, claiming to go to Moscow or anything.

“I’ve got two months of vacation time,” he tells the man. “Elizabeth and I haven’t got any plans. I say that I want to visit some relatives overseas that El hates, and go over there. That way she could stay back with Neal so I could… go find… Neal.” Peter cocks his head towards the ceiling like he is thinking.

Jones laughs. The names are going to trip them up. “Who will be active ASEC, then?” he asks. “Please don’t tell me some random DC higher up that hates us all.”

Peter chuckles. He remembers Amanda Callaway very clearly. She gave him and Neal a very hard time, and almost got Neal back in jail. “The temporary replacement already works here. I have all the paperwork set and ready. I just need his signature.” Peter starts rustling through his desk, looking for something.

“Who is it?” Jones asks.

Peter pulls out a couple of sheets of paper and a pen. He grins. “You, Jones. You up for it?” There was a glint in Peter’s eye, mimicking Neal’s mischievous look. Jones glances between the paper and Peter, awestruck.

“Me? Sir, I…”

“Never knew you could be so lost for words, Jones,” Peter beams. “You can help me on my- let’s call it ‘mission’- and also make sure my absence is covered. I also think you are the only one fit for the job. You up for it?” Not a lie. Jones would do anything to make sure things run smoothly at the Bureau, and cover for Peter. Now with Neal and Diana gone, Jones was the man he could trust the most in this office.

Jones takes the pen up and signs his name, grinning bigger than Peter has seen in a long time. “I’m ready,” he says confidently as he hands the paper back.

“Good, now get back to work,” Peter orders. They grin at each other and Jones gets up to leave.

“I hope you find him and give him a piece of your mind,” Jones says.

Peter nods, agreeing. “I hope so too.”

* * *

Neal Caffrey was taking a nap on the couch when someone knocked on his front door. He looked around for a pair of pants- he didn’t want to open the door only wearing his boxers. 

He tugs on the pants as he hops to the door. He situates himself to look somewhat alive, running his fingers through his hair.  _ Look presentable, Neal, _ his mom always said to him. Although she probably would have yelled at him to put a shirt on. The knock sounds again. “Coming!” he yells.

He opens the door and is surprised by the figure standing on the front porch. “Hey, Neal.”

“Mozz!” Neal cries and hugs the small man, overjoyed by his presence. He hasn’t seen Mozzie in a little over a year, trusting him to stay behind and make sure New York thought he was dead to give him a head start. “Did the Burkes get the Bordeaux I sent?” He stepped out of the doorway to give Mozz a path into the house, hauling all his luggage.

Mozzie nods, pushing past Neal. “They did, and the Suit remembered the key.”

A smile bloomed on Neal’s face. He knew Peter would find the storage unit, discover his secret. “What was he doing when you left?”

Mozzie dumped his stuff in a pile at the end of the couch and sat down, clearly relaxing for the first time since New York. “He was checking out the storage unit. The look on his face when he came out of there, holding my playing card, was of pride. And determination. He’s coming to find you.”

The smile stayed on Neal’s face but there was a bit of concern in his eyes. “Is he going to arrest me?” Neal left the key so Peter could find him. But on blind faith. Peter has the complete right to arrest Neal and haul him back to the States. He was hoping Peter wouldn’t find a reason to arrest him and find Neal only to see him again. Because Neal missed Peter. Deeply. He wasn’t lying all those years when he told Peter that he was his best friend, or that the agent was the only one he could trust.

Mozz huffs. “He’s not getting the FBI involved. He’s trying to keep it down. He clearly doesn’t want you arrested. But what he wants to do other than that, I don’t know.”

Neal breathes a sigh of relief. He goes into the kitchen and pulls out two wine glasses and a very expensive bottle of French wine. “I saved this bottle until you came. I found it months ago and thought you would like some.” He poured and brought the wine to Mozzie, who sat down at the table. He looked at the papers and blueprints that were laid out on the large table. 

“I have an idea,” Mozzie says as he takes the wine. He takes a sip. “I thought of it on the long, stressful flight here that D.B. Cooper could have been on.”

Neal shakes his head at the conspiracy theory as he wonders what the small man had thought of. “Go for it,” he says, intrigued.

“The Suit wants to catch you. He was going on about being 4-and-O with you. What if we mess with him?” Neal gives a look of confusion. Mozz goes on. “He knows we are in Paris, that we are planning on going for the Louvre. We go on the run, for old times. Make it interesting for him.”

“Taunt Peter Burke?” Neal asks. Mozz nods. “Like old times.” His smile grows wider. He raises his glass. “I like that idea. But Mozz, I am sick and tired of running. You know I got away from New York so I could stay still for a while.”

“But Neal,” Mozzie starts. “It won’t be like running. You don’t have to cover your tracks, you don’t have to look over your shoulder 24/7. If he catches you, he catches you. Or you can reveal yourself anytime you want.” Mozz looks up at Neal with hope. “One more time. I miss the thrill. Then, I promise, no more running.”

Neal swirls his glass, watching the wine dance. “Maybe one more time Mozz.” A smile starts to form. “Agent Burke can’t find me this easily.” Neal stops swishing. He holds his glass to Mozz. “One more time. To the old days.”

Mozz clinks his glass with Neal’s. “To the old days, and the new ones to come.” Neal could see a smile on Mozzie’s lips before he drank. With Mozzie here now, life got a bit better. But now that Peter was coming to find him…

He missed his friend dearly. And everyone else in New York, but most of all Peter. He had a lot to explain, sure, but one last conversation with Peter was all he wanted.

Either to say a proper goodbye, or find a way for Neal to go back to the States off the record. He would never tell Mozzie that he secretly wanted to go back to the City that Never Sleeps, he man would be heartbroken. But Neal had a life there. It was the first time since his dad was imprisoned that he truly felt at home, and it now left a hole in him.

Neal drinks the rest of the wine and leans over the blueprints Mozzie was examining.

_ One day at a time, Neal. _

_ One day at a time. _


	3. Reliving Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter pulls out the files, and the memories, he locked away so long ago.  
> Neal longs for the old days but doesn't want the consequence that comes with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not particularly proud of this chapter. But I may continue writing and later (once I finished half or maybe the entire story), I'll come back and edit it more, to make it and the previous and future chapters flow better and fit in more.

Peter sits on his sofa, flipping through Neal’s files. He put them away into storage a month after Neal’s “death,” the pain of seeing them too hard to bear.

But he kept them in his own attic. He couldn’t shoulder the guilt that came with putting what was left of Neal into the FBI warehouse- at least, not yet. He still held on. And he was glad. It would have taken weeks and a lot of paperwork and suspicion to retrieve the boxes and boxes of files on the con artist.

Peter knows that Neal was going to hit the Louvre. And with the museum staying out of the press, he knows Neal hasn’t made a move yet.

It would take time for his request for “vacation time” to go through the chain of command, so Peter results in researching what Neal has done in the past to figure out what he may do now.

Case files and photos and evidence piles on the table as the night wears on. Elizabeth sat and shifted through the mass of papers once Neal had gone to bed, but had said goodnight around ten, wanting to get rest for work tomorrow.

It was one in the morning, and Peter was still sorting through all the paperwork.

He got hung up on the detailed reports about their cases together. The good times they brought, the hard choices they had to make. He remembered the scandals and the frames, and the times it was actually real.

He had lost the sight of what he set out to do, and was instead lost in the world of nostalgia. He saw Neal’s face in between the words, heard his laugh with every sentence, saw his wicked grin in the white space. Peter missed Neal. A lot more than he’d like to admit.

Peter looked at the clock. 1:15. He set down the file he was looking through and sighed. Soon, he would find Neal again. Soon he’d be able to say some words he’s been wanting to say for a long time. 

Peter gets up and stumbles towards the stairs. He didn’t realize he was so tired. He had to get up for work in the morning. He groans. He wished he didn’t use all of his vacation time for Neal. He could have saved one day for today.

No. He needed all the time he could get to find him. Neal wouldn’t let himself be found so easily. There had to be a catch, a trick. Neal wouldn’t give up that easily.

Peter throws back the covers and climbs into bed beside his sleeping wife. She was beautiful when she slept, her face relaxed and calm. Calm like she was before this whole Neal mess, baby and con man. He smiles and kisses her softly on the cheek. He lies back and closes his eyes and smiles.

_ Neal, here I come. _

* * *

“We have to think like Peter Burke. What would he do in different situations?” Neal says as he walks around the dining room table, swishing a glass of wine in his hand. Mozz sits at the head, sorting through papers and blueprints of the Louvre.

“We can already assume he knows you are in France,” Mozz replies. “He found the newspaper you had in the unit. He would have put the dots together.” He takes a sip of the wine next to him. Neal smiles. Mozzie loves France just because of the wine. This was his third glass. “We have to rob the Louvre and then cross country lines with the art without getting caught. While leaving clues for him to pick up.”

Neal pulls out the chair next to Mozz and sits down, pulling a few of the papers to him. “I’m thinking of Germany. And leaving a submarine somewhere.”

Mozz laughs. “A sub. As in the German sub Adler had you break into?”

“Yup,” Neal answers. “Peter will get it. He was there. We could go to Berlin. The heart of the Nazi Party. Hide there until Peter gets there, then run to our next destination.”

Mozzie sets down the papers he was looking through and leans back, hands behind his head. His eyes glazed over, as if he was lost in thought. “Ah, the submarine. Too bad we couldn’t use the treasure. We could be on a far-off island right now.”

“Well, if we sold that artwork, my cover might be blown. I don’t want to go back to being a ward of the state.” Neal fiddles with the edge of the tablecloth. “I’ll work for the FBI on my own terms. Not theirs.”

Mozzie nods, agreeing. “I do miss New York though. I didn’t think I would long for that place, but I do. I also miss the Suits. And the baby.”

“I miss it too, Mozz.” Neal takes a sip of wine. “By the way, you never told me what they named their son.”

Mozzie sits up, waving a finger at Neal. “I didn’t, and nor will I. That is his story to tell.” He smiles broadly. “When he finds you.”

Neal rolls his eyes. “Now I want to get captured. Just so I can find out the name of their baby.” Mozz laughs and Neal joins in. Neal raises his glass, and Mozzie clinks it.

“To whatever happens in the future,” Mozz begins.

“And to those who are in it,” Neal finishes. The sip and put their glasses down, the laughter still in their eyes. “Mozz,” Neal says into the silence. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Ask away,” Mozz answers.

“If you were me, and you were in this situation, would you go back? Back to being an asset, but surrounded by people who love you and believe in you?”

Mozzie looks Neal dead in the eye. He puts his glass down and takes a deep breath. “Neal. Why are you asking me this question? You already know the answer. You’re the brightest kid I’ve ever met. As a wise man once said, ‘Your heart is free, have the courage to follow it.’”

“Shakespeare?”

“No.  _ Braveheart _ .”

Neal laughs. “You finally watched that movie?”

Mozz shrugs. “What else do I have to do? I’m not running around making sure your ruse is still going anymore.” 

They sit in silence. Mozz turned back to the blueprints, trying to figure out a good route to get in and out of the museum with the bounty in one piece.

But Neal sits in his chair, lost in thought.

He wants to go back to New York, but he can’t go back to the way it was at the Bureau. He wanted the Burkes and Sarah back, to run the streets with Mozzie and Alex and return home to a luxurious apartment with June. But he couldn’t handle the government anymore.

He sat, staring into nothing but replaying those five years over and over again in his head. The music box. The Nazi sub. Kramer. Sarah. His father. Rebecca. Keller. The Panthers. All the fun Peter and Neal had together, going undercover and rooting out the bad guys. The bonding and the trust that came between them. The hardships that they got through.

Peter was Neal’s best friend. He was the only one who truly saw good in him. Neal had told Peter that.

His last words to him.  _ You’re my best friend _ .

Under his breath, he whispered: “I would, Mozz.

“I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a little note- I've actually never seen Braveheart. I just found that quote from it.


	4. Off I Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter misses his friend, bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not posting earlier and that it took me so long to write so little. With school and COVID-19 going around, my life is turned upside down. But once I get my life somewhat in order, I will be able to write more.  
> I have gone back and edited a bit more of the previous chapters and added some details. It's not much, but it makes the story make some more sense.  
> Again, this is a work in progress. Even though I post a chapter does not mean it is done. If you have any suggestions or constructive criticism, I will gladly take it. I am learning how to write a full-blown novel and not just short stories and any advice will help!

Peter woke up bright and early, jumping out of bed as soon as the alarm clock went off.

Elizabeth rolled over and mumbled, “Peter, what are you doing? It's way too early…”

Peter cuts her off with a kiss. “Can’t hon, I gotta catch a plane.” He throws open the closet and grabs a pair of pants and a shirt, throwing them on.

“What day is it?” El asks. Peter grins. His wife is so funny when groggy, not fully aware of anything in the world.

“February 18. I gotta leave to go find Neal.” Peter walks over to her side of the bed and brushes the hair that fell on her face out of the way. “Remember? We were up late last night packing.”

“Yeah, but do you have to get up _now_?” she complains.

Peter smiles and kisses her gently. “My flight leaves in two hours. Security takes an hour to get through. I should have left half an hour ago.” He kisses her again. “I slept in a little.” 

Peter stood up and El groaned. “How long are you gone again?” She sat up, still in bed.

“I don’t know. I took vacation time for two months, you know how Neal can be, but it shouldn’t take that long. A couple of weeks at most.”

“You call every night,” El orders, fixing Peter with a glare.

“Got it,” Peter says, moving to walk out the door, but apparently Elizabeth was not finished.

“And when you find him, that exact minute, you call.”

“Yes, dear.”

“And if anything does wrong, you call.”

Peter was getting annoyed but tried to not let it show for fear of getting hit by a pillow. “Mmhmm.”

“And when you find him, I expect to be flown out there on the next possible flight because I have some words to say to Neal-”

“Yes, hon. I got it. You want to be in the loop,” Peter interrupts, quickly rushing to the bed and kissing his wife one last time. “I have to go. Unless you want all those American Airlines points to go to waste.” Elizabeth just smiled sleepily and laid back down. Peter knew that El was protective of her airline points, and wasting them was like wasting food that could feed starving children in Africa to her. Peter gripped her hand and kissed her once more. “I love you, El. And don’t worry, I’ll find Neal, and you can say whatever you want to him, over the phone or in person.”

“You’d better. I’ve been planning a speech for a year when I see him in heaven. I guess I’ll be saying it while I’m alive.”

Peter chuckles, not always understanding the nonsense El mumbles when sleepy. He opens the door quietly and tiptoes down the stairs, trying not to wake their son in the wee hours of the morning. Grabbing a pre-brewed Starbucks coffee from the fridge and his suitcase by the door, he was out and on the hunt for Neal Caffrey.

* * *

“My contacts from the city say that the Suit is on a plane headed to Paris to arrive tonight at eight pm,” Mozzie says as he walks from his bedroom, just coming off the phone. “There should be no delays, the storm over London dissipated earlier this morning.”

Neal nods as he sits at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and reading the local newspaper. “Good thing you still have those friends in New York, Mozz. I would have no idea what I would do without you.”

Mozz smirks as he grabs a bagel and the second cup of coffee Neal brewed from the kitchen and sat down next to Neal. “You would have been in jail sooner if you never met me, and you will still be there.”

“Ah! Give me a break, Mozz! I had talent before I met you!” Neal cries as he grins broadly and playfully shoves Mozzie. 

Mozz shrugs. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts.” Neal shakes his head, still grinning. They sit in silence for a few minutes, reading the newspapers scattered across the table.

“Everything good for tonight?” Neal asks, breaking the silence. 

“Prepped and ready,” Mozzie responded. “Are you?”

Neal nods. “Mozz, you realize that if we do this and we  _ run _ , we will have more people on our tail than Peter.”

“I’ve been through worse,” Mozz replies. Neal thinks back to Mozzie’s days of being  _ The Dentist _ , and concludes that Mozz was not exaggerating, a once in a lifetime thing. “A multi-country chase while leaving clues behind only to be found by the right person is not hard.” A smile.

Neal matches his smile. He puts the newspaper down and drinks the last sip of his coffee. “Then come on, we have a show to put on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank those who have constantly read my works and stay subscribed to this work even when I don't post for a few months. Thank you!


	5. The Chase Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long... I have been focused on other things and finding time to write is getting hard.

Mozzie and Neal gathered all of their supplies and piled into Neal’s MINI Cooper at five o’clock. “I’m gonna be sad when I have to say goodbye to this baby,” Neal said as he patted the dash, Mozzie stuffing a toy submarine into the center console. This was going to be their first clue to Peter. The car was fancy enough for the agent to recognize it as Neal’s, and further investigation would lead him to their next destination. The plan required them to leave the car on a street near the Louvre, and take an alternate to the airport. “This car did me wonders. I even bought it fair and square,” he added with a grin to the small bald man in the passenger seat.

Mozzie shut the console and looked up at Neal. “The test run gives us half an hour from here to the museum. The walk to the subway should take about fifteen minutes, and the subway itself another twenty to the airport. Did you get the plane ready?”

Neal nods and begins backing out of his garage. “I pulled a few strings from a friend in the Hamptons. He agreed to let us borrow it just this once, and then return it so he and his concierge doctor can fly to Cuba next week.”

“Perfect. We are all set. You ready?” Mozz asks.

Neal turns and looks at his friend. “You bet I am.”

* * *

On the plane Peter rereads all of Neal’s relevant files, studying the way that he runs, escapes, performs jobs, all to get him ready to catch the con man without any difficulty. He studied the files that Jones was able to get on the Louvre, memorizing their security system and how Neal would deceive the system.

This was all still so new that Peter could hardly believe it. Neal was alive, and he was traveling to catch the man who tricked the entire New York to get his freedom. He was proud that Neal decided to take matters into his own hands and get the freedom that he deserved, but there was some anger for how he did it masked it. How he deceived them all. And ran off without a clear goodbye.

Squished in the middle seat, one man sleeping and drooling on his shoulder, the other getting peanut crumbs all over his lap, Peter simply put in his headphones and adjusted his screen protector so only he could see the computer screen and continued reading.

* * *

Neal parked the car around the back of the museum, the staff entrance to the building a good walking distance away. They get out and pull on the stolen staff uniforms Mozz has acquired a few days ago on their last scouting mission of the job.

The guards change shifts every four hours, and for a minute the back door was left unguarded. Inside was a metal detector and a guard who checked IDs, making sure nobody did what they exactly were going to do. A contact in the city had made badges for the both of them, also managing to forge the scanner to allow them into the room they needed.

Dressed in their janitor uniforms, Mozzie and Neal grabbed their bags- at the top, cleaning supplies, and at the bottom, tools for breaking and entering.

“Small things Mozzie,” Neal whispers to Mozzie. “We have to get away clean and out of the country. We don’t have to clear customs but we have to clear these guards and the public. And we also have to sell whatever we steal.”

“I know, Neal. I was the one that suggested it!” Mozzie whispered back, right before they reached the door. “Ready?” he asked.

Neal took a deep breath, calming his nerves. Despite being a conman and thieving for years of his life, anxiety, and worry still coursed through him. He closed his eyes for a minute, savoring the calm before the storm. 

Then opened the door.

* * *

The guard at the checkpoint inside was half asleep and briefly glanced at their IDs before he waved them into the building beyond. 

They both loosed a breath that they were silently holding. Getting in was almost as hard- perhaps even harder- than getting out. At least by then, if your cover was blown, you could have leaped out a window or off a roof with the loot.

Neal and Mozz head to the janitor's workroom to grab a garbage bin and some trash bags, to assumably take out the trash and replace the bags. An older, fatter man was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper and eating a bag of Cheetos, fingertips stained orange. He looked up and glared at them. There was Cheeto dust in his white beard, making it stand out. Neal barely choked back a laugh. “Who are you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at them.

Neal put on a big grin and put a hand on his chest. He introduced himself in an American accent. “My name is Nick Halden. I’m an art student from New York applying here for an internship, and they offered me a janitor job for a few weeks to get me accustomed to the place. And this is my partner, Dante Haversham. He’s my…”

“Agent,” Mozzie finished with a french accent. “I am to keep an eye on him while he adjusts to life in Paris.” Mozzie and Neal briefly glanced at each other. They agreed to use aliases that Peter already knew, just to tick him off. Neal had beamed when Mozzie came up with the idea. To be honest, he missed Nick Halden.

“Then why are you dressed as a janitor as well? Don’t agents wear suits and just follow them around?”

“Oui, but I like to immerse myself in my client’s situations. It helps me bond and understand them.” Mozzie flashed a smile. Neal waited anxiously for the man to shut up and allow them to pass. They wasted too much time talking to the guy. 

“Very well. Do what you need to do. If you need any help, my name is Tom. Ask any of the staff and they’ll summon me.”

“Thank you, sir. We’ll be on our way. We just need to grab some things,” Neal explains as he walks over to the wide closet and throws the doors open, revealing two large movable garbage bins. Both he and Mozzie grab one.

They were just out the door when Tom asked, “What’s in the bags?”

Neal stumbled, surprised at the sudden question. Thankfully, Mozzie jumped in. “Nick didn’t know whether or not to come prepared.” He turned and moved to walk out the door. “Better be safe than sorry!” he added over his shoulder. 

Neal heard Tom chuckle before he went back to his Cheetos and newspaper. Relieved that the sudden encounter with Tom went well and that their cover wasn’t blown, he loosed a breath and glanced sideways at Mozz. “Ready?”

A nod. “Ready.”

* * *

Mozzie and Neal snuck into the first storage room, the only people that were in the halls were other janitors. With the big trash can being cumbersome, Neal had to stand watch outside the storage room while Mozzie guided it- with some banged thresholds and cursed words included- into the darkened room.

Neal slipped in behind Mozz and flicked on the switch. A glorious sight met his eyes.

Rare paintings and pots littered the walls, tables and chairs, and other common household furniture belonging to some very important dead people lay in the center, nicks and scratches littering their surfaces. Mozzie stood in the center, grinning. He spread his arms out wide. “Let's get rich!” With that, he began to wrap fragile artifacts in the garbage bags and place them gently into the bin.

Neal grinned. He glanced around, taking in the room and the musty smell that came with it. He hadn’t done a job since leaving New York. Not since taking down the Panthers. He didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.

The thrill of the job ran through him, his body filling with adrenaline. Instincts kicked in, noting every piece of ancient history and figuring out its market price and determining where it would sell the best. He walked over to a table, carefully picking up a plate belonging to an old tea set. He turned it over, marveling at the handiwork.

Grin still plastered on his face, Neal began packing up the artifacts and placing them into the garbage bin.

Oh, what fun Peter is going to have.

* * *

Peter’s plane got in half an hour early. He had used the plane ride to get reacquainted with his old friend’s habits. How he thinks, how he typically does jobs, how he is usually careful to not leave prints behind.

Peter glanced at his shoulder while getting off the plane. “Damn it,” he mutters under his breath. The man sleeping on his shoulder drooled even more, leaving a disgusting stain on the sleeve of his jacket. 

His irritation quickly dissipated when he stepped off the plane and peered at the television screens.

_ Louvre has been robbed, precious artifacts have been stolen. _

__ _ No evidence has been recovered. Witnesses are being interviewed for further information. _

__ _ An estimated total of $2 million had been stolen from the Louvre museum. _

Peter stops in his tracks.  _ Neal _ , he thought. Mozzie must have informed him about Peter’s schedule. Peter grabs his bag from where he set it on the ground, glad he was carry-on only. Peter looks at the screen again. He couldn’t get onto the crime scene, he was supposedly “on vacation.” He could have Jones write him a warrant saying that he was chasing a criminal that led him to France…

Peter shoves all the thoughts out of his head. Thinking won’t do him good now. He had to  _ act _ .

Peter was out of the airport and in a taxi in less than five minutes. “The Louvre,” he demands the cab driver. He just stared at Peter through the rearview mirror. “Step on it!” Peter just about shouts. The driver did, and soon they were on their way.

Peter groans. What the hell was Neal thinking?

To the driver’s credit, he managed to get Peter from the airport to the museum in twenty minutes, avoiding major streets and potential places where the police may set up barricades. The cabbie stops as close to the scene as he could, about half a block away. “This is as far as I can take you,” he explains.

“Thank you,” Peter says, handing the man money. Enough to cover the fare, plus a little extra for the fast driving. He moves around back to grab his luggage and haul it to the side of the street. He wasn’t going to risk the cab being discovered and the man being hauled in for unnecessary questioning. Especially when it could lead to the FBI discovering his presence here.

He waves the cab off and sets down the slope to the museum, spying the edge of the taped-off area just ahead of him. He dumps his bag behind a trash can to retrieve later and rearranges his coat, scowling at the stain on his shoulder.

Peter has no idea how he is going to get close enough to the police to get any hint of where Neal is now. Bribing wasn’t an option, and he couldn’t go in there declaring that he was an American FBI agent. 

_ I’ll deal with it later, _ he thinks, charging ahead down the road. He will find Neal no matter who or what stands in his way, and if he gets discovered, if he gets Neal discovered, then he’ll damn the consequences. But in the meantime, he’ll do all he can to keep that from happening.

Somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, have you guys heard that we may get another season or two of White Collar!?!? It isn't official yet, but Jeff Eastin is in, and so is Matt Bomer and Tim DeKay, and many other actors who played our beloved characters! I want a season seven!

**Author's Note:**

> I accept constructive criticism! If you find something wrong, I would like to know!


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